A Week, A Lifetime
by EmmaLThornwood
Summary: And then Adam is rushing toward the car all at once, throwing himself inside, practically propelling his body across the seat at Ronan, who grunts, "Jesus fuck, Parrish," but it's entirely good-natured, and then they're kissing, and it doesn't matter that they're in the middle of the road because no one else will come through, not right now.


Adam Parrish is exhausted. He's just taken his last final of the semester, and the trek back to his dorm from the psychology building seems longer than it ever has before. He's hungry, too; he knows his stomach has to be growling loudly enough that every person passing him on the sidewalk can hear it, but he's too tired to ride his bike into town and every restaurant on campus is closed for the night.

He sighs, pulling the strap of his messenger bag a little higher on his shoulder, and trudges on.

The sound of the engine stops him in his tracks no more than a minute later.

_Lots of people have BMWs, Parrish_, he reminds himself coolly. _They _all _sound like BMWs. _But something in him knows.

And when he hears the wolf whistle and turns around, sure enough, there's Ronan Angry-Irish-Catholic-Farmer Lynch, window down, an easy smile resting on his face, soft, dark curls longer than Adam's ever seen them.

He could cry.

He doesn't move for a long moment, and Ronan doesn't ask him to. They just take each other in, assessing, consuming, worshipping from a distance.

And then Adam is rushing toward the car all at once, throwing himself inside, practically propelling his body across the seat at Ronan, who grunts, "Jesus fuck, Parrish," but it's entirely good-natured, and then they're kissing, and it doesn't matter that they're in the middle of the road because no one else will come through, not right now, not when the universe is so tangibly aware of this reunion.

"What are you doing here?" Adam finally breaks away to ask, stretched fully across Ronan's lap now.

"Missed you," Ronan answers with a shrug, left hand absently rubbing Adam's lower back beneath his shirt. "You're coming back next week anyway, so I thought I'd help you pack. But I can always leave if-"

To shut him up, Adam kisses him again, lips more insistent and playfully annoyed than anything now.

Ronan chuckles into it, nipping at Adam's bottom lip. "Or I could stay," he sighs, defeated or bored, Adam can't really tell which emotion he's shooting for. "I guess."

Adam just rolls his eyes, leaning his forehead against Ronan's temple. "I missed you, too, asshole."

Ronan insists on buying dinner, of course. Adam's never even been inside the restaurant, which likely means that it's out of his price range, but he doesn't try to argue. Doesn't feel like he has to anymore. This isn't charity; it's love.

He can't pronounce anything on the menu, but Ronan assures him that it's all Italian and orders for him fluidly, producing two dream-IDs crafted to perfection (they're on the cusp of twenty-one, but not quite there yet) and requesting a bottle of the most highly recommended dessert wine (the only kind sweet enough for "Adam Princess Parrish" to drink) that the house has to offer.

He never consumes so much alcohol that he's seriously affected by it, and the food helps balance it out, but Adam's had enough by the time Ronan throws a wad of cash down on the table that he feels warm and sated inside.

"So where's Opal?" he asks as they pull out of the restaurant parking lot, fingers threaded casually through Ronan's on the console between them.

"Declan's got her until we get home," Ronan answers, tapping his brakes solely to irritate the driver behind them. "I told him she'd probably eat his entire apartment, but he said he needed some quality time with his niece, so."

Adam quirks a brow. "His niece, huh?"

"His words," Ronan says gruffly, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

"Does she call you dad?"

"She doesn't talk."

"What do you tell people when they ask?"

Ronan blows an agitated breath out his nose. "They don't."

"What if they did?" Adam presses, endlessly amused. "What if _I_ did? What would you tell me?"

"I'd tell you to fuck off."

Adam grins. That's the closest thing to confirmation he's going to get.

He expects, naturally, that Ronan will drive them back to campus. But instead of turning right onto the main road, Ronan takes a left.

"Uh," Adam says.

"I know where I'm going," Ronan tells him.

Apparently, even if this trip was on a whim, Ronan has thought it through at least a little. About ten minutes later, he whips them into the drive of a quaint, whimsical bed and breakfast, stopping the car below the awning and offering no explanation to Adam other than, "Gotta go check in. I'll be right back."

Alone in the car, Adam allows himself a moment to take it in. It's the type of place he would call beautiful, were he musing to someone who wasn't Ronan Lynch. The building is made of stone—genuine, as far as he can tell, held together by mortar—and vines of roses are climbing up the latticework on either side. There can't be more than fifteen rooms in the entire establishment. It's so perfect and so _Ronan_ that his heart aches.

Before he has time to think on it too heavily, Ronan is reappearing from inside the building, sliding back down into the driver's seat, and they're parking.

"I have to work tomorrow," Adam says, like Ronan hasn't had his schedule memorized since before he has. He's still got one more week left at the garage or he would've been hightailing it back to Henrietta by now. "I didn't bring anything."

"I did," Ronan tells him, casual, and then they're out of the car, and Ronan is unloading a duffel bag from the trunk. Adam just kind of stares at it for a moment.

"Ronan. Did you dream me clothes?"

Ronan snorts. "You think I'm that much of a sap?" Adam does, but he doesn't say so. "It's called Walmart, Parrish. They sell jeans and t-shirts just as well as the next guy."

Of course. Of course Ronan bought him clothes. Of course he came here and wanted it to be a surprise that Adam wouldn't have to sleep in a shitty, residence hall bed for the night, so of course he hadn't told Adam to pack.

"How do you know my size?" Adam asks.

Ronan doesn't even regard him, as though the question isn't worth acknowledgement. Instead, he says, "There's a toothbrush and some deodorant and stuff in there, too. Let's go, you're about to fall asleep sitting up."

Adam allows himself to be corralled inside and up the staircase to the second floor of the inn, where Ronan unlocks a door with an honest to god key and ushers Adam ahead of him.

The room is dark, but Adam finds a light switch on the wall just as Ronan bumps into him from behind, and when he sees the singular, full sized bed, he breaks out into a smile.

Having been together as long as they have, it isn't unusual for them to share a bed. But Ronan's mattress at the Barns is a king, giving him plenty of space to move away from Adam if he gets in his own head and considers that maybe it's too dangerous to be close, just in case he pulls something with razor sharp claws and even sharper teeth out of a nightmare.

This will force them to tangle up in each other, and no matter what Ronan would inevitably try to tell him if he asked, Adam knows it was intentional.

"I love you," he says, for the first time all night.

He hears Ronan laugh, a soft, breathy thing, and then there's a hand on his waist, Ronan's forehead against the back of his neck. "Come on. Let me in far enough to close the door and put this shit down."

Adam revels in the sensation of Ronan's breath against his back for one beat longer and then takes a step forward, heading to the bathroom as Ronan locks them in.

"What time is checkout?" he calls, absently regarding himself in the mirror as he unbuttons his pants and kicks them off. "I work at—"

"We're not checking out tomorrow."

Adam sticks his head out of the bathroom doorway, assuming, even though his hearing ear is closer to Ronan, that he's misheard. "What?"

"We're not checking out tomorrow," Ronan reiterates. "I'd rather stab my eyes out than sleep on that contraption you call a bed, and I told you I'm staying until it's time for you to leave with me. We're not checking out until next week."

Adam wants, instinctually, to protest. Dinner was one thing, but this? He wants to ask how much money Ronan is spending—_has_ spent—to come here a week early. He wants to say he isn't worth it, to insist that Ronan let him pay at least some of it back, to keep pushing until he agrees. But he is so tired. And Ronan is here, in front of him, and all he can think of is curling up in Ronan's arms and feeling something safe and secure and familiar for the first time in months. So he exhales, lets the tension drain from his shoulders, and says, "Okay."

They both want more from this night, and they both know it, but Adam reminds himself that this isn't like the usual visits. Ronan isn't leaving after a too-short weekend, and when he does, he isn't leaving without Adam. Adam is worn out from work this morning and tests all afternoon, and Ronan is worn out from driving, so apart from some languid, deep kissing, they resolve to put their libidos on hold, at least until tomorrow.

When they fall asleep, the Greywaren wrapped tightly around his magician, neither of them dreams.


End file.
